


The Masochist

by SophinaBlackwood



Series: Rule of Thirds [1]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: BDSM, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 20:50:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11471439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophinaBlackwood/pseuds/SophinaBlackwood
Summary: In an effort to discover more personal information about his arch enemy, Mustafa accepts an invitation into the King of the Cruiserweights' hotel room (and instead learns a few things about himself).





	The Masochist

**Author's Note:**

> Oooh boy do I have a lot of feelings about the Cruiserweight division!! 
> 
> Btw- Mustafa and Jack aren't dating- just smitten :)

“You're doing it again.”

The sound of Jack’s voice hit Mustafa’s ears hard, spinning his mind into the present. “Hm?” Mustafa offered Jack a sweet smile, moving scrambled eggs around his plate absently.

“You've been ogling at Neville as if he's about to sprout a third eye,” Jack said, the smile unreturned. In fact, he seemed quite concerned.

 _You’ve nothing to worry your pretty head with, love_ , Mustafa thought.

“What do you think turned him so mean?” Mustafa mused, glancing again to where Neville sat at the opposite end of catering. The Cruiserweight Championship draped over the chair beside him, silver metal occasionally catching the light. Neville glowered at any passing ‘ _peasant_ ’ as if they were about to try steal it right in front of him. Though no one would be that stupid.

 _TJP, maybe,_ Mustafa decided, smirking to himself.

“Who gives a shit,” Rich shrugged, a mouth full of breakfast. “I'd rather he do us all a favour and _sod off_. Rich mocked Neville’s signature grimace and the rest of the table laughed- except Tozawa, who was scratching his chin, fully engrossed in a personal game of solitaire.

“You've got an obsessive personality,” Cedric said, shooting Mustafa a smirk across the table.

“What's that supposed to mean?!” Mustafa asked, unaware that this was apparently Let’s Roast Ali hour.

“Cutting him off halfway through promos? Begging Kurt for rematches? Stalking and complaining about his twitter posts? Sounds like a crush to me,” Cedric replied, emboldened.

Jack winced in Mustafa’s peripheral, and as he ignored it, an odd pain spiked up his arm. “I want a shot at the Championship,” Mustafa argued.

“So do I?” Cedric raised a brow, “You don’t see me getting all teary eyed when I’m near him.”

“You _do_ tend to get a little emotional when you're in the ring with him,” Jack said.

“I'm passionate?!” Mustafa threw his hands up helplessly.

“You're passionate about Gulak, too, without getting misty eyed. In fact, I think you enjoy egging on his antics,” Cedric observed, twirling his fork. “As much as you seem to enjoy getting beaten up by Neville.”

Mustafa gaped at Cedric, shocked by his impertinence.

“Now see here,” Jack said, shifting in his seat, no doubt about to back up Mustafa with that English wit he so adored-

“Ma-so-chist.”

The table turned to Tozawa, who looked up from his cards, staring straight at Mustafa. The Stamina Monster blinked simply, then went back to his game. “Ah!” he said in eureka, and moved a large pile of cards over a row.

As Mustafa opened his mouth to reply, Noam’s irritating cadence sliced through the tense atmosphere. “Does anyone hae a phone I can borrow for a wee 'mo? I need tae call Foxxy for our daily chat or I’ll be gettin’ a right skelpin’.”

“Fuck off Noam,” Cedric grumbled.

“Och man, Ceddy, jist admit the better cheil won tae bonny lassie.”

Rich had to jump up to hold Cedric back from knocking Noam out then and there. The Scot held his hands up innocently, chortling.

Amidst the sudden chaos, Jack leaned closer to Mustafa. “Are you alright, m'laddo?” he whispered.

“Fine,” Mustafa said distantly before sliding his own cell phone across the table. “Here, Noam, if it will make you leave Cedric alone.”

“Oh Mustafa, ye are an angel, ye are. I owe ye one.”

Mustafa rolled his eyes as Noam scampered off to frantically dial his girlfriend. Cedric glared at Mustafa across the table, apparently not happy he’d obliged Noam.

 _A thank you would be nice_ , he thought miserably. Out of habit, he glanced over at Neville and caught the King looking right at him. Mustafa’s heart sped up uncomfortably and instantly dropped his gaze back to his plate, once more pushing his lunch around with no intention of eating it.

 

* * *

 

It was only after arriving back at the hotel that Mustafa realised Noam hadn’t given his phone back. A throng of panic struck through him- the image of Daivari snatching his phone from Dar and smashing it into a locker (because Daivari apparently had no concept of hard work and reward). So, instead of his usual routine of taking a second shower and visiting Jack’s room to study old wrestling tapes, Mustafa ventured down the opposite corridor on his hotel floor. These doors were no doubt filled with the likes of Nese, Kendrick and- _bless his heart_ \- Gulak. Mustafa just needed to figure out which was Noam’s. Keeping a keen ear for any muffled domestic disputes, Mustafa jolted when a nearby door opened. He turned back to see Neville standing in the doorway, wearing nothing but adidas trackpants and staring right at Mustafa. Mustafa stared back.

“Ali.” Neville held the door open wider and the command was clear.

Now, from a young age Mustafa’s naani had always instilled him with the wisdom that during his walk on the path of life, he would encounter many forks in the road. _Always take the hard road_ , she would say, _There will be many obstacles, but overcoming them will make you the man you want to be. Do this, and you will become the brightest light this world has ever seen._

Mustafa closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and followed Neville willingly into the devil’s den.

 _The hard road or the dumb road,_ Mustafa groaned silently as Neville closed the door, effectively locking them in. There were no cameras here. No one to save him if things went awry.

“I came upon something mighty interesting before,” Neville said, voice low and harsh. He moved to a bureau, and held up none other than the small electronic device Mustafa had been looking for. “No lock code?” Neville asked, thumb swiping across the screen.

Mustafa’s hair stood on end. “I have nothing to hide,” he said, evenly. He had plenty to hide on that little device- from Neville anyway.

“Do you?” The tiniest smile quirked at Neville’s lips, eyes dark. “Because Noam was positively tittering when he went through your folder entitled ‘research’.”

_Shit._

“It’s smart to know every inch of your opponent,” Mustafa argued, voice quiet, fully aware that the folder entitled ‘research’ was gigabytes upon gigabytes of Neville matches, Neville photos, Neville information…

 _Should have a fucking keycode,_ Mustafa closed his eyes for a second, sighing through his nose. He was suddenly aware this was a very dangerous situation he had practically volunteered himself for. So, why was his heart beating with exhilaration? He should be scared. Should be dripping in a freezing sweat. But he was excited. What was Neville going to do? What other chance was Mustafa going to get such an up close and personal examination of the King’s psyche?

“I agree,” Neville growled, approaching Mustafa, who backed up until he hit the wall. Mustafa gasped for breath as a knee stuck him hard in the stomach, barely able to register his shirt being ripped up over his head. Neville’s mouth brushed by his ear. “Scream for me when you’ve had enough,” he whispered, hoarsely.

Mustafa winced as a fist stopped short before hitting his cheek. His breath was shaky and loud in his ears as he gawped at Neville, horrified. Mustafa wondered if Neville thought he was weak for being emotional- for carelessly wearing his heart on his sleeve. Only, Neville was emotional too. He was angry. His changing expressions were a clue to what he was thinking- what he might do next. Mustafa wanted to use it against the King when he won the Cruiserweight Championship, but he needed more.

“Go on,” Mustafa said hoarsely. Neville blinked. “Do it. I know you want to.”

Neville chuckled darkly, and stroked Mustafa’s cheek with a sickeningly gentle touch. “Oh, no. No, lad. Not where they can all see.” He gripped Mustafa’s bicep hard, turning him around. “It’s lucky you wear a top when you wrestle.”

Mustafa threw his hands over his mouth to stifle a yell as Neville raked fingernails down his back. He fell to a knee, moaning into a fist, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. _Damn it. Damn it to hell, you will not beat me._

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” Neville snickered. When Mustafa looked up, the King’s hand was stained with a little blood. He smeared it across his own beard before sucking the crimson from his thumb. As if Mustafa’s blood was a refreshing beverage, Neville smacked his mouth blatantly.

“That all you got?” Mustafa croaked, meeting his eye with an emboldened smile. Neville’s smirk dropped. He grabbed Mustafa around the neck and forced him back up against the wall. Although Mustafa hissed from the aggravated slashes on his back, he noted Neville was careful not to grip him hard enough to leave a mark. Mustafa’s stomach flipped excitedly. This tiny detail of mercy was very telling. If nothing else, it was something Mustafa could exploit in future competition.

“If you were a smarter man, you wouldn’t be pushin’ me buttons,” Neville growled, their mouths so close, an icy mint blowing over Mustafa’s skin. Strange, for some reason he never thought Neville would actually care about hygiene. But judging by the King’s freshly washed hair, pulled back into a tight bun and belongings surprisingly neat and tidy around the room, Mustafa learned there was a very pragmatic side to Neville, indeed. Was this a glimpse into his former personality? Mustafa needed more.

“Guess I’m stupid, then,” he goaded, heart racing with wonder at what Neville would do nex-

Mustafa sucked in a sharp breath, teeth biting down into his lip as a spark of hot electricity lighted up his veins. An evil smile grew on Neville’s lips. Belatedly, Mustafa realised that Neville was palming the front of his pants, a hard erection pressing eagerly against it.

“Every.. inch.. of your opponent,” Neville used Mustafa’s words against him, annunciating each syllable achingly slow. Mustafa melted a little as Neville ran the pad of his thumb over the head of his clothed cock. “So hard for me. Such a good lad.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Mustafa gasped, flattening himself against the wall as Neville raked his teeth and tongue down the ridges of his abdomen. Mustafa’s brain was spinning at how much pleasure he drew from the biting pain of Neville’s touch. Fingernails dug into the flesh of his ass, so hard it threatened to draw blood despite the layer of clothing between it. Mustafa wished that layer would just fuck off.

Mustafa moaned into his hand, lids fluttering. Neville’s mouth was roughly exploring his hip bone, mere inches away from granting Mustafa ecstasy.

“ _Please,_ ” he hoarsed, breath hagged.

Neville froze, and pulled away, eyeing Mustafa warily. He yanked at Mustafa’s hair painfully, who he would find to be completely malleable to the touch. Mustafa’s fingers tingled, feeling light-headed in his arousal. It was hard to comprehend how much he wanted this. How much this outlandish turn of events was affecting him. He knew Neville only went for dick to scare him- make him scream- he certainly wouldn’t have predicted Mustafa to be _willing._

 _Oh fuck,_ Mustafa realised. _Cedric was right._

Neville still seemed to be studying Mustafa, and glanced back towards his luggage, then back to the man in front of him. Neville let Mustafa go, leaving him to wobble on his legs before Mustafa caught his weight against the end of the bed.

“What are yo-” Mustafa’s voice disappeared as Neville turned around, holding a black belt in both hands. With a sharp pull, the leather snapped dangerously. Mustafa felt dizzy as his cock twitched excitedly.

Neville approached. “Scream when you’ve had enough,” he reminded, and sliced the leather across Mustafa’s chest with a deafening crack.

Mustafa didn’t scream.

 _No. Tozawa was right,_ the thought cut through Mustafa’s mind thickly. The strike had brought him to his hands and knees, effectively winding him. Neville had not held back. After a moment to recover, Mustafa sat back on his heels, lightly touching the reddening mark on his chest. Slowly, Mustafa looked up to Neville, whole body tingling for more. Neville was staring down, but his expression had cracked, and he seemed almost.. _shaken_.

“You…” Neville turned himself around and raked fingers through his scalp. “Get out,” he said, rough and panicked.

“Huh?” Mustafa blinked.

“I said, _sod off!_ ” Neville roared, throwing Mustafa’s shirt at him. Mustafa pulled the material off his face and stared agog. He didn’t have time to put together a reply as Neville dragged him to his feet and shoved him unceremoniously out the door.

Mustafa gaped as something hard and cold was pressed firmly into his chest, cooling the searing pain of the whip wound. He swallowed, gazing right into the soul of devil and was unnerved when he failed to find an ounce of evil within hazel pools of Neville’s terrified eyes. _I’m trying to save you from yourself,_ those eyes told him. That bothered Mustafa and he wasn’t sure what to do with it. It was a truth that shouldn’t be true. Neville was evil, Mustafa was good and the world continued to spin on its axis. Or, that’s what it was supposed to be. Mustafa’s hand brushed over Neville’s fingers as he gripped the returned phone at his chest.

“I-” Mustafa tried for words but instead the door slammed in his face.

He stood there in the hallway, confused, flustered, injured and aroused until a muffled yell of Noam in the next room spooked Mustafa into a run. The Prince flew back to the safe confines of his own room- panting and sweating, but not from the run.

“When the Prince met the King,” Mustafa whispered, shaking.

_The Fucked Up Prince._

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fun one to write. Let me know what you think!! Comments really make my day!


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